Title: Inescapable
Chapter: Secrets, Alcohol and Numbers.
Author: Irishpiratess
Word Count: 6594
Genre: Drama/Romance, a bit of mystery (at its most mundane).
Warnings/Labels: time travel fic, some (unrequited) slash, HPBcompliant, mentions of alcoholism and depression, secret relationships, flashback fic. The only ships I can divulge without somehow giving away some point of the plot are HPGW (I usually don't like them- but their relationship isn't spotlighted in this fic), NLLL, and ADMM (but also not spotlighted, only mentioned in passing, as Dumbledore is dead).
Summary: Seven years after the simultaneous deaths of Harry Potter and Voldemort that marked the end of the war, the Minister of Magic fumbles to make up for past actions against the nine remaining of the Order. Unknowingly, he uncovers a long-hidden secret that a certain member Order had hoped never to divulge. Immediately following this, the nine are stuck together in a broken-down elevator, where they begin to learn the most precious secrets of one Hermione Granger. Can she learn to trust them all, or will she be too prideful and conscious of their reactions to divulge?

I'm sorely disappointed in the review count for last chapter. The only reason I'm updating now is because I got itchy and impatient. This chapter won't give you too much, but they keep getting longer, so maybe some new information slipped in there.

Disclaimer: I don't own it- hell, I don't even own the hall where Hermione's meetings are! The description is of a real place in my town where there are real AA meetings. Brenda and Juliana are mine, though. Well, actually, Juliana's kind of based on my grandmother, so I guess she's not really mine either. Damnit.

Thank you to reviewers: Tazjay, Looly, Ember Riddle, F75, and Wasu. The one labelled "hello sam" doesn't get a thank you. (Come on, Brandon, don't read the summary, ask me what ships I have, and write a review just because we're bored in study. You don't even read HP fics. Go back to Bleach and 24.)

Alright! Here's the chapter. Review this time!!!!!!

"Alright," sighed Remus as he sat down at Ginny's kitchen table, "let's get this over with, then."

"What do you mean?" Ginny smiled too brightly, setting down a large salad bowl.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at her.

"Don't think I don't know why you've invited me here. You want what I know about Hermione's stay in America."

"Can't we enjoy the company of a, erm, fellow, erm, war hero and, ah, enjoy dinner?"

There was a slight pause, before Ginny scoffed.

"Alright, that was awful. We give."

"You're the only one who saw Hermione while she was gone," Tonks said gently. "She's not going to tell us anything. We need your help."

A long sigh escaped Remus as he glanced at the three women- and one rather unwilling man- staring expectantly at him.

"Alright," he gestured at Ginny. "You want the story so badly, I'll tell you all I know."

The three women leaned forward subconsciously, eager to catch any essence of Hermione's story that might eke out into the warm, lasagna-scented atmosphere of Ginny's apartment. Neville, on the other hand, sagged backwards into his armchair, tired of the women's curiosity, but intrigued in spite of himself.

"Alright," the werewolf repeated. "Where to begin…"

It had been a long time since the end of the War, but anyone would be a fool to say that any member of the Order was happy now; while Voldemort himself had been vanquished for the second- and final- time, his reign had had a lasting effect on each of the nine. None of them were happy without each other- or others, such as the case with Snape, had never been happy- and Hermione's desertion weighed heavily on their minds.

This applied to Remus especially, and he shifted his weight on the supposedly once-plush bar stool. The stool was of a dark, faded wood, with yellow foam escaping the edges of a dark green vinyl seat cover. The stool belonged to the Last Call pub, whose interior matched the quality of said stool upon which Remus Lupin had faithfully sat, hours on end, nearly every night for the last three years.

Of course, it was only nearly. He told himself this very often. One night every month, Remus quietly took his leave of the well-used bar stool earlier than usual, traveled back to an old house that had once been as well known to him as his bar stool, and patiently waited. At about one hour to sunset, a kindly, middle-aged witch by the name of Brenda would apparate in. And, with side-along apparition (werewolf attacks during the war had slowly grated away tolerance in the eyes of the Ministry, and so Remus found himself without a license) she would bring him to her home in the western United States. There, he would enjoy a precious few cheated hours of sunlight before taking the Wolfsbane potion and transforming for the night.

Then, while in the form of a wolf, the once-prestigious Order member would allow himself to be shuffled into a magical trunk-like compartment. At about seven hours before dawn came to Brenda's home, she would pick up the trunk and apparate back to the Shrieking Shack. The time difference would bring Remus out of the sway of the moon, and he would once again become a man. The witch would help him to exit the trunk, administer various pain relieving potions, and guide him back to his room in the boarding school.

It was on those days Remus had not the energy to drag himself to his bar stool, no matter how much he longed to. It was this day, the day after the full moon, that kept him at nearly and not quite to every.

The last time Remus had seen Hermione, she had been leaving him in the care of Brenda, her close family friend, for the fifth or sixth time. This was nearly two years ago; the young witch had disappeared soon after, leaving a note very similar to one he had seen from a close friend very similar to this witch a long time before. Brenda had never told him anything about seeing her, and Remus had given up asking.

On this particular night, Remus had spent more time on his stool than usual, and as time flitted by, his sobriety went with it. Not that this was particularly odd; hours upon a bar stool nearly every night seemed to strip away one's defenses. However, the thoughts idling in the lycanthrope's mind were his last defense; he tended to do things while he thought, and in his case, doing wasn't holding a bottle to his lips. For example, at the moment, he was scribbling numbers on a napkin; nonsensical math that he was sure had a type of genius procedure to it, was sure could lead him to an answer.

22 months since Hermione's disappearance, minus the 21 months since Professor Snape had stopped brewing his Wolfsbane potion each month, causing Remus to be dependent on her aunt Brenda for a supply.

The one month remaining, added to the 19 months since Harry's death, then those twenty divided by the four months Ginny was pregnant.

These five months, equal to the five he had spent with Nymphadora Tonks, and to the five Ginny had forever lost for her unborn child.

These fifteen, added to the five years he had lived as a normal boy before being bitten by Greyback, to equal twenty, the age he currently appeared to be.

Divided by five, the number of aging potions he had taken out of his daily regime, he came to a rest at four: for Ginny, Molly, Hermione, and Minerva, all of whom had had their closest relationships torn apart by the far-reaching effects of the War. And, of course, subtracting the three that had been through death, he was left with one.

"Who?" Remus slurred, head in his hands. "Who was it?"

At this, Remus was forced to take a break, as this type of reverse-Legilimency proved very tiring after so long. He opened his eyes, glancing back at the group seated around him, and sighed.

"I'm not sure that actually answers anything," Remus mused. "In fact, it only brings more questions, doesn't it?"

"You…" Ginny frowned, staring at Remus concernedly. "You were an alcoholic, as well?"

"Oh, yes." Remus chuckled. "Hermione and I attended meetings together, when we both disappeared. That's actually how I found her, when she moved."

Everyone fell into another pensive silence, and Ginny glanced the case of muggle beer still sitting by the couch with some trepidation, eyes then darting back to Remus. He caught this and chortled again.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "I'm not quite tempted by it."

An embarrassed flush colored her face, and she glanced away.

"Who was it?" Luna asked abruptly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the announcement of Remus' alcoholism.

"Pardon?"

"Who was the one left, that Hermione had lost? And how did you know she had lost anyone at all?"

"Well, she told me," Remus said frankly. "It was a complete accident, of course, and very vague- she never gave me a name, or specifics, or anything of the like. All I know is that she stopped seeing whoever this was just before she left."

Ginny paused, a look on her face that spoke of dread.

"She hadn't been cheating on Ron, was she? Because she broke up with Ron in March, all on her own, two months before she left, and seemed quite fine with it."

"I can't tell you that, Ginny," the werewolf sighed. "Only she can."

"If only she would answer our questions, willingly."

"We haven't asked her-" Luna said irritably, but was interrupted by Tonks.

"Maybe we can find something else in your memory," the morphing witch suggested somberly.

Remus nodded, closing his eyes and preparing himself once more.

Who?

This question plagued him often, the remainder of an odd conversation he'd had with the secretive witch one of the first times he'd been brought to Brenda's home in the United States. The werewolf tried desperately to remember how many months that had been, so that he might somehow calculate the missing answer to his problem, tell him exactly who the who was that day Hermione had accidentally let slip about something that, years later, he still was not sure about. But, alas, he could not remember if it had been March, or somewhere closer to June. When he took his seat on the bar stool and began scribbling his formula, he knew that it was absolutely imperative that he remember, that he knew how many months had passed since then, but could not find any indication in his memory of which month it had been.

And so, he was left without the help of his mathematical proof to tell him who this mysterious him with which Hermione had been infatuated was.

"Could I ask you something?" Luna interrupted, breaking the concentration of the group, now seated in Ginny's living room.

"Sure," Remus answered, seeming surprised.

"Your math dealt in numbers that would change with time. So, if you kept doing that formula, over time, your answer would change, and you wouldn't have the same person anymore."

"Oh, no," he chuckled, and Luna was surprised he seemed to have an answer for this so quickly. "See, 19 years had passed since James and Lily had gotten married, when they were both 19, and 19 days after the last new moon- my favorite time of the month, as that would be the point where the moon has the least hold on me. 19 was the age at which I joined the Order, first realized I wanted to be a professor, and was finally granted the reprieve of the Wolfsbane potion."

He paused for effect, as if letting this all sink in.

"That month was specific to my ridiculous formula because of the number nineteen. It had been nineteen months since Voldemort had been vanquished for the second time."

"S is the 19th letter of the alphabet, you know," Luna said rather abruptly.

"S for Sara?" Ginny mused, eyes wide.

"It must be!" Tonks cried, grabbing a nearby take-out menu to scribble on, herself. "S for Sara, S for seventeen- the age they were when they started the school year- S for-"

"That's not quite where I was going with that," Luna grumbled, rolling her eyes; only her husband noticed.

"I didn't know about Sara," Remus assured them. "But I found Hermione living in Santa Monica about three months after that memory."

"Three months, equals the three representing C, C for California, where Santa Monica is." Tonks' smile brightened as she scribbled this down, too, as if it had any true relevance.

"So, 19 for Santa, and 13 for Monica, and 3 for California!" Ginny beamed over at Tonks, who hastily jotted this in the margins, next to the price of egg rolls. "Add that all up, and you get-"

"35, which doesn't have a corresponding alphabet number," Remus rolled his eyes. "You're botching my system. There was never any correspondence between the numbers and letters. If you put letters into it, you're running the risk of tainting the process. Leave it at numbers."

Ginny and Tonks ignored him as they continued tallying up numbers on their fingers, jotting things down, and concentrating much harder than necessary on a procedure a very, very drunk man had come up with nearly five years earlier. Remus rolled his eyes as they spat numbers at each other in rapid fire, adding and connecting things he didn't think were even vaguely connected to his own mathematical formulas.

"But if you separate 35 into more numbers- see, you keep 16, because that was the age that Hermione was when she admitted to me she liked Ron, and then you keep 13, because that was the number of months until she told him she preferred being friends, and the leftover is three." Ginny frowned, shaking her head.

Tonks' pen ran out of ink, and she quickly shook it, panicked, cursing that Ginny lived such a muggle lifestyle in those days. Luna calmly handed her another, and the cotton-candy-hair-colored woman scrambled to write down what Ginny was still spouting off.

"Well, three has no significance, so obviously that must be one and two put together, because one is the number of people who at some point could have impregnated her, to my knowledge, whether or not they were broken up."

The still-somewhat-buzzed redhead looked up triumphantly, seeming to come to a conclusion within her own borrowed math. Luna only raised an objective eyebrow at the only Weasley girl.

"Do you really find it likely Hermione's only slept with your brother?" Luna gazed calmly at her, then turned her eyes to Tonks. "Do you?"

"Well, no," Ginny and Tonks admitted; Tonks continued rather brazenly, "but unless someone else knows who she's been shagging, we don't have much help in the suspects department."

"But I just think it's so unbelievably obvi-"

"What did the two stand for?" Remus frowned, shifting in his seat to peer over Tonks' shoulder at the menu. His voice drowned out Luna's as he brought the group back to the point.

"Oh." Ginny frowned thoughtfully, trying to think. "Well, I don't know. Two months? What happened two months ago?"
"Not two months ago," a new voice entered, "for two months."

Hermione, sounding weary and as if she were dreading this, stepped out of Ginny's fireplace, unfolding bent-up limbs and shaking soot from her robes.

The group froze, suddenly unsure what to say. Somehow, in Ginny's mind, 'hello Hermione, we were just discussing who you've been shagging and the significance of numerology in determining the parentage of the secret child you've hidden from us the past three years, would you care for some tea?' just didn't seem right.

"Er," the redhead tried, "hello, Hermione. Would you care for some lasagna?"

"No, no," The witch waved a hand dismissively, "I've already eaten. I just figured that… well, you'd have some… questions remaining, I suppose."

Luna shot a triumphant look at Tonks and Ginny, who seemed utterly crestfallen that, instead of resorting to their numerology, they were about to be given the answers from Hermione herself.

"I told you she'd tell us if we only asked," Luna tsked, moving over on the couch to let Hermione sit down.

"I can't stay for an interrogation session," Hermione warned. "Because- and I've dreaded accidentally saying this to you for a very long time, and made up so many excuses in lieu of saying it- the sitter expects me home around seven, as that's usually when I'm home from work."

Remus sat very still, contemplating the math in front of him, and wondered if letters did have some connection, after all.

Seven o'clock- G, for Gainesville, Georgia, where Hermione had first brought him to Brenda's, seeking protection from the Ministry.

Ministry- M; 13, plus two for Brenda and three for California, where she had later relocated, came to equal 18- R for Remus. He gave a short, humorless laugh, and added an A to make himself Remus the Alcoholic who hid from the Ministry with Brenda in California. 19. S. Secret. Yes, it had been quite a secret.

"I'm not going to go into my memory with you tonight," Hermione informed them, sighing. "I have to be home very soon, and anything I show you now will just bring more questions."

"Why don't you just tell us?" Luna asked, sounding more and more exasperated with everyone's secrecy and roundabout ways of asking things.

Hermione remained silent for a moment, head bowed in contemplation at the floor.

"It's not the kind of thing where I can just give you a name and that will be the end of it," she said quietly, avoiding their eyes. "You won't understand until you know the full story. Perhaps you won't ever understand the reasons I have for what I've done in my life."

A bit perturbed, Remus frowned at the crown of the witch's head, before sighing, bringing his mind back to the numbers they had been adding. One, two, 13, and 16, he believed, was the final count, was it not? A, B, M and P. What on Earth did that stand for?

"But I suppose the least I can do for you is compile a collection of my memories that could make it easier for you to understand," Hermione sighed, still not looking at any of them. "If you'd like, I will drop off my pensieve tomorrow, along with the memories you'd need to follow what happened, both before and after I left."

Ginny and Tonks still seemed mortified to have been caught gossiping about their friend; Luna, however, smiled brightly.

"That would be lovely, Hermione," Luna said softly, hand reassuringly on Hermione's shoulder. "And I'm honored to know you're trusting us with what you've obviously kept so secret for so long."

A flicker of something crossed Hermione's face as she glanced up at Luna; it seemed disturbed, almost afraid, and the former Gryffindor frowned.

"D'you alread-"

"We don't need to know anything else tonight, Hermione," Luna assured her smoothly, brushing ashes from her cloak in a maternal way. "It's quite alright."

Hermione nodded and stood again, preparing to Floo back to her own home. She paused and glanced around, almost ashamed, before meeting the eyes of Ginny, the closest friend she had.

"I just hope none of you think badly of me for what I've done, after my disappearance or before it."

And with that, Hermione was gone.

Remus contemplated even more what Hermione had just said. He already knew what she'd done after her disappearance; hell, he'd been there with her at the meetings. He'd heard her story there, when she introduced herself as Melinda, in a vain attempt to hide her true identity. But before she left? He could not, for the life of him, understand what she had done wrong before she left. With the type of logic he used to borrow from the old, well-used bar stool, Remus concluded that the number 35- the letters a, b, m and p- had to be the answer to this question. It had to tell him what had led to everything else in Hermione's life.

With a confused frown, Remus realized Hermione had never told them what had gone on for the two months that represented this b. More questions.

He needed some tea. Fast.

"You know something," Neville accused his wife as soon as they had apparated back home that night.

Luna didn't answer, but floated to the kitchen, pulling her wand out of her bun and flicking it at the kettle. Her long, pale blonde hair fell in knotted waves down her back as water, already warmed by a charm, spouted out of the top in an arc that split to land neatly, without so much as a rebelling drop spilled, into two mugs that raced over to her hands. Teabags already waited inside, staining the water dark.

"You know, I don't see the practicality in using tea leaves at all. They're so dreadful when you accidentally get a mouthful of them. Taking the leaves out, in an enclosed compartment, is just so much more sophisticated than spluttering out half your tea when you get a clump of it in with the drink. Divination never made much sense, either, on that topic. How can you tell the future from a lot of soggy mush typically used to create a caffeinated beverage? I don't see anyone using mashed potatoes to tell the future, and mashed potatoes have loads more divining properties than tea leaves."

Neville followed his wife to the kitchen, ignoring her obvious dismissal to his comment.

"Luna," he said in a serious tone, "what do you know?"

"I know plenty of things, love, but not all of them coincide with what we've learned tonight." Luna smiled, handed him his tea, and patted him on his cheek before turning towards their library. "In fact, did you know that a lobster's antenna was called a rhombus? Ridiculous!"

"No, no, no. You don't get off that easy." He shook his head, used to his wife's half-answers and her vague truths. "What do you know about Hermione and her daughter?"

"Oh, all you had to do was ask," Luna said, seeming surprised. "Let's see. Sara's nearly three, which means that Hermione was about 21 when she was conceived. Given the memory she showed us that, at 21, she was an alcoholic, it might be safe to say that she didn't mean to have a child, and might not have meant at all to sleep with whomever the father is. It might also be safe to assume that she cleaned up upon learning of her pregnancy, and this is where she met Remus, in the meetings they both attended. As Remus would have said a name if Hermione had been seeing someone when she found him again, one could assume that she was not with the father at the time, and possibly that the father was not in the meetings with them. Thus being, one could conclude that Remus does not know the name or location of the father, and none of us have ever met the man in question."

Neville seemed bowled over by Luna's thought process, and blinked owlishly.

"How do you do that?"

"Simple logic, love. No one else seems to use it anymore."

Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly, and observed the particular silvery strand of memory dangling from her wand tip. Granted, her mind felt much lighter without all of the memories she'd bottled that night, and her past settled into the dim background, out of the spotlight. They were still there, she could still remember them, of course; with a laugh, she remembered being afraid, the first time, so long ago, that she would forget whatever memory she pulled from her mind. But no, it was only like one pushed the memory behind a smokescreen, putting it out of focus and away from the forefront of one's mind.

Ah, she noted with a detached smile. She was distracting herself again.

This particular memory waving at her from her wand tip was of Juliana.

Juliana was a rather crude older woman that Hermione had met in her AA meetings in California. At said meetings, Hermione had gone under the name of Melinda, a strange attempt on her own behalf to reduce the risk of anyone finding who she was, as she was. While the secretive witch was still under the Fidelius charm, she wasn't quite sure of the charms limits, and wasn't sure that if someone physically saw her, they wouldn't recognize her.

This aside, it was Juliana that had taken an immediate and strange liking to Hermione. Nearly without the younger girl's consent, she had set up to become her sponsor, and arrived at Hermione's door every night to take her to a meeting.

"You know the saying," Juliana had growled as Hermione groused at her, having shown up just as Hermione's favorite television show began. "90 meetings, 90 days. It's been a week. Now get your alcoholic ass off the couch and in the damn car!"

But, despite her rude nature, Hermione came to see Juliana somewhat as a protective force, there to save her from herself and her own destructive nature.

Again, Hermione was distracting herself.

The meeting was held in a dimly lit hall at a small, local airport. The airport itself was mostly unknown, mostly only giving lessons for pilots licenses. The hall was in a barracks-like building made of green-painted metal, with a ridged metal roof. Inside, a dark gray, threadbare carpet spanned the room, only giving way to a faded orange tile where there was a small kitchen area. Folding chairs were crammed into every available place in the too-small room, and the lights were dim- Hermione couldn't clearly see face of the woman standing at the podium, and supposed this made it easier for some of the shier members to talk in front of the group.

Hermione supposed that, after six months of meetings, it didn't really matter anymore. The point was that she was there, and not at the bar. Adelaide's pity and remorse had been a blow to her pride, but they had gotten her here.

Juliana sat to her right, looking at the speaker in with a content focus that Hermione could not copy. Slightly wrinkled hands folded over a large stomach, while coarse, silver and black hair fit smoothly behind her ears. Juliana was not a very beautiful woman, and aging was not treating her well, but somehow the 60-something-year-old was striking in her own way, and commanded respect immediately.

Without taking her eyes from the speaker, Juliana leaned towards Hermione and gruffly muttered, "Where have you been?"

"What do you mean?" The witch in question murmured back, eyes wide in supposed innocence.

"You didn't come to the meeting on Monday," Juliana accused her, steely eyes tearing from the speaker and probing Hermione's chocolate-colored ones. "You think that just because you've been here half a year, you get to slack off?"

"N-no," Hermione stammered, intimidated by the latent anger in Juliana's voice in spite of her own better knowledge. "I was… visiting home."

"Went back to England?" Juliana raised an eyebrow in obvious doubt. "You didn't mention any trips before. And you were at the meeting Saturday. You traveled from California to England for a grand total of, at most, three days?"

Hermione's face reddened, and she cursed having such a convenient way to travel at times like these. It was only Wednesday (Juliana imposed a strict regime of every-other-day meetings, so that she alternated going on Monday-Wednesday-Friday-and-Sunday and Tuesday-Thursday-and-Saturday) and she knew that there was no way to explain that she could forego what would amount of nearly an entire day of travel there, one night spent there, and another day spent traveling home.

"Yes." Hermione straightened up in her seat, meeting Juliana's steely eyes once more, letting her see the truth in her own. "That's exactly what I did."

Of course, this wasn't an entire truth. Home was not in England, but rather in Scotland, at Hogwarts. The school was still open, and Hermione had allowed herself a brief visit here, unbeknownst to many (including the Headmistress McGonagall) as she soaked in the essence of what she had run from three years before.

Nevertheless, Juliana gave a satisfied grunt and nodded, apparently accepting that Hermione was telling the truth; while the woman was loud and demanded that she be informed of everything, she had come to a sort of understanding with Hermione that there were certain things in her life that were not to be disclosed to anyone, and the topic of home was one of these such certain things.

But, instead of turning back to the speaker, Juliana continued to inspect Hermione, a small frown dominating her harsh features.

"What?" Hermione shook her head slightly, confused. "What is it?"

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" Juliana huffed, tilting her head.

"Ex-excuse me?" Hermione flustered. "I most certainly am not!"

"Yes, you are," The older woman snorted. "I can tell."

"Well, thank you, but I don't see any blue lines written across your face, if you don't mind me saying so." Hermione rolled her eyes and slumped down in her seat, throat dry and aching for a drink.

Juliana raised an eyebrow and suddenly stood, dragging Hermione up by the arm. A few of the members seated behind Juliana glanced reproachfully up at her, but knew better than to say anything to the hot-tempered woman, merely craning their necks to see around her large bulk.

"Come on, then. We'll go get a damn test."

"Oh, this is completely absu-"

"If it's so absurd, why do you look like you're choking on your own tongue?"

Juliana, seeming calm as she could, grabbed Hermione's arm once more and dragged her out of the hall, letting the heavy metal door slam shut behind them.

"I am not pr-" Hermione faltered, then tried from a different angle. "It's completely ridiculous. Trust me."

"I can tell a pregnant woman when I see one, Melinda."

It was another point in Juliana's mentorship of Hermione that, no matter how much the older woman knew Melinda wasn't her name, Hermione was adamant that she continue to call her this.

"I…" Hermione shook her head, eyes growing concerned. "No, no, I'm not, I swear…"

Juliana grunted, nodding.

"Come on, then. Let's go get a test."

Hermione had never questioned Juliana's uncanny ability to just know things before, and, feeling a bit hopeless, trailed after her sponsor towards her car.

Of course, Luna had left a very important detail out of the explanation she'd given to her husband on what she knew. Abrupt, vague, and brutally honest as she was, even she knew that this was just one thing that had to be kept to herself, until Hermione felt the need to disclose it.

Because, it was just painfully obvious; Hermione had gone to such great lengths to keep her child a secret, but for what reason? Why, in the name of Merlin, would the bright, honest witch they had all known so long keep what was normally a great milestone in the lives of others so quiet?

Because there was something else they didn't know, because there was more to her story. Because she was ashamed of something, and, quite plainly, the father knew no more about Hermione's daughter than the rest of them.

Ron Weasley knew that, at this point, his sister's curiosity would be killing her, and knew that, most likely, Tonks was not helping. Most likely, Tonks would be spurring Ginny on, encouraging her and probably aiding her in her gossiping ways.

Reasonably, his sister was on his mind quite more than usual. He sat at his kitchen table, staring at the copy of the Daily Prophet spread out before him, and all he could think about were the words he had thrown at his sister and best friend in their seventh year at Hogwarts.

Unthinking, naïve, and easy had been two of the mild adjectives thrown at his sister, while he bestowed upon his best friend an accusation of carelessly leading on a blind little girl. He had then learned about Ginny's pregnancy, and his words to them did not improve in their kindness from there.

Needless to say, Ginny no longer spoke to him by the time of Harry's death; Harry himself had given Ron his unspoken forgiveness only moments before his death. This did not improve Ron's standing in his sister's eyes.

Silently shoveling in his breakfast, Ron gave a small sigh and wondered how different life would have been if Harry and Hermione had only stayed to hold everyone together.

"You know, Severus," Remus offered awkwardly, "I was thinking, earlier, about seventh year."

"What did you have in mind?" Severus replied dryly, glancing over at the werewolf seated on the couch in the library.

Remus gazed at the Potions Master in silence for a few seconds, seemingly lost in his own world, before letting out a small chuckle.

"Danielle, of course."

Severus' brow twitched in repressed frustration, and he took a seat in an armchair across from Remus, seemingly contemplating the small pile of tomes on potions on the coffee table between them.

"What about her?"

"Oh," Remus replied, "how much changed when she came. Or I don't suppose you'd remember much of Danielle's stay that year?"

"I remember," was Severus' grunting reply. "Of course I remember. She was the only one Potter or Black were ever even remotely bullied into… inter-house unity by."

Both knew that, by this, Snape meant something much closer to home than the entirety of the Hogwarts student body. While 'Danielle' had never been able to get James or Sirius to like Severus, with both Remus and Severus as close friends of hers, the Marauders had given him a grudging respect borne of their friend's acceptance of him. After all, if the ever-sharp, hard-to-impress Danielle found him suitable for friendship, he could not truly deserve the treatment they gave him.

"Yes, there was that." Remus smiled slightly. "I don't suppose it's hard to reconcile the fact that, all that time, Danielle was Hermione."

"I don't understand how she was sorted into Slytherin, myself." Severus snorted.

Remus gave his former enemy a smile that seemed to come from a long way away, as if he were only observing.

"I don't understand how, being colleagues and such, and after being such close friends with Danielle in our seventh year, you still call her Miss Granger."

"I did not know it was her until yesterday afternoon. And I am correct in assuming you did not, either?"

"Oh, of course," Remus nodded. "I've known Hermione by a few names in as many years, but not Danielle."

Severus was getting the distinct impression Remus was taking every opportunity to forego the personal pronoun. He could not imagine what his reasoning was.

"My apologies, Remus, but is there a point to reminiscing? As much as it pains me to admit this, I fail to grasp it."

"Oh," the werewolf shook his head bashfully. "No, I'm just being nostalgic, myself. I should probably get back home, really."

"If you must," Severus agreed dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Remus stood, for some reason suppressing a grin, and took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot by the fireplace.

"Always nice to have these chats, Severus," he chuckled, as he stepped into the grate, spinning away back to his own home.

"Hermione?" Remus raised his eyebrows, surprised to find the witch sitting at his kitchen table as he stepped out of the fireplace. "What are you doing here?"

"I-" Hermione sighed, shaking her head, before offering a weak smile and admitting, "I wanted a drink."

The surprise in the werewolf's eyes softened, and he nodded thoughtfully, pulling two mugs out of his cabinet while turning the knob on the stove for the kettle.

"Thinking back on everything like that does tend to do that," Remus said sympathetically, setting down the tea in front of the tired woman.

She nodded, avoiding his eyes as she took a long drink from her mug.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

Remus shrugged, sitting down across from her.

"Are you going to tell them you came back before… well, before you came back?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she spluttered into her tea, coughing as she set it down on the table.

"You knew I visited?"

"Hermione," Remus raised an eyebrow at her, shaking his head, "of course I knew."

"But, you had gone back to England by that point."

"I knew you would, even when-"

Remus suddenly paused, eyes growing dark, and Hermione stared at him for a moment before standing with a shaky sigh.

"I should get home. Thank you for the tea."

"Er, yes, of course." Remus nodded shortly, still staring in contemplation at the floor tiles.

Without another word, Hermione apparated out of his kitchen with an embarrassed pop resonating in the silence left behind.

Remus was left, staring at the tiles, head spinning.

"Luna?" Hermione called tentatively through the apartment. "Are you there?"

"In here, Hermione!" Luna called brightly from the kitchen. "Care for some tea?"

"Er, no, thank you," she responded awkwardly. "I've, er, just had some."

"Well, sit down."

Hermione did as she was told, looking around the bright kitchen with unseeing eyes.

"Now, what brings this visit?" Luna smiled, sitting down next to Hermione.

"I wanted to… I wanted to ask if you had…" She shifted uncomfortably. "You seemed to sort of-"

"Know everything already?" Luna filled in calmly, honest eyes not wavering from Hermione's face.

"Y-yes. B-but… how?"

"Oh, I didn't say I do. But I think I can give at least an educated guess as to most of what happened."

Hermione paused, before sighing.

"I think I'll take that tea now."

Luna nodded sympathetically, flicking her wand at the kettle.

"Wh-what is your… erm, educated guess, then?"

"Well, obviously, there is something much larger than just the identity of your daughter's father at risk here. You didn't want him to be told at all, did you?"

Hermione shook her head, eyes downcast in embarrassment. A mug of tea, now full, floated carefully from the counter into her hand, and she accepted it with a grateful smile. Gods, if it weren't for tea…

"You have so many more secrets than you wanted us to ever know." Luna shook her head in sympathy. "It must be dreadful. Have you told anyone the complete truth, for the past seven years?"

"N-not really," Hermione was startled into answering. "Luna, how on Earth d'you-"

"The Room of Requirement." Luna answered before the startled witch could finish her question.

"Pardon?"

"I suppose you got much use of that room in seventh year?"

Hermione's face reddened, and she took a quick gulp of her tea before answering.

"Yes, I suppose it was rather… erm, useful. I was Head Girl, and it had useful… erm, books, to study, and…"

"No, not that year." Luna smiled disarmingly. "See, I found the room pretty useful, myself. There was one room in particular that it would become that I liked to explore; the room where everyone hid things."

Luna admired the fast transition from red to white in Hermione's face before continuing.

"In particular, I found a very interesting diary of a seventh year girl from the late seventies. Or rather, a seventh year girl in the late seventies, as she wasn't from the late seventies at all."

"You found Danielle's diary?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"Strange that you refer to yourself in the third person. But, yes. In fact, I still have it."

Luna flicked her wand; the door to her study opened, and, from a pile of odd-titled books with subjects ranging from cattle ranching to Japanese customs, came an ordinary, leather-bound journal. Hermione caught it, eyes wide, and glanced back up at Luna, unable to be mad.

"You've had this all these years, and you never told anyone?"

"Why would I?" Luna laughed. "Your social interactions with the teenaged versions of our parents and their friends aren't all that important, however interesting they might have been."

"But- I-"

"Don't worry," Luna assured her calmly. "I've never showed anyone, and I never let on to anyone that I knew where you were going, all through your rightful seventh year."

"But, even if you read this, how did you know?" Hermione shook her head. "Despite what happened when I was Danielle, that doesn't exactly-"

"It wasn't all that difficult to figure out," the blonde witch shrugged calmly. "The Hogwarts paintings are exceedingly informative, if you show them the right respect and kindness. They get surprisingly lonely. In fact, I wouldn't have known at all if it weren't for Greta the Gossip. Her painting was down by the Charms room, but she hardly ever stayed in her own portrait."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. Only Luna would take the time to converse with the Hogwarts paintings, and to take advantage of the stockpile of gossip they held after being able to watch everybody, everywhere, at all times.

"I'm sorry to have kept it so long," Luna said softly. "Maybe, if you let Ginny and Tonks take a look at it, they'd understand better why you did what you did."

Hint: Compare Luna's logic (the answer she gave Neville) to Hermione's memory. If you can use logic, it will tell you something.

We're getting dangerously close to me losing my stock of safety chapters (the chapters that I've already finished between this update and the chapter I'm writing now). If you review really well, I think I can find the inspiration to finish up chapters nine and ten. If not, updates will probably slow down.

Your homework for this chapter is to ask me three good questions. I will answer at least one of them, as long as they're not the obvious plot-killing ones.

I know I told someone, in a review reply, what Hermione's animagus form was, but I decided that it didn't seem right and changed it to something else. It's not a huge change, or really even too relevant, but just thought I should mention it! Sorry!

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